Mumbai, 3 June 2020, 6.18 pm

Last night, the glass windows rattled. The wind raced through the house, forecasting trouble ahead.

Our buildings, so badly built, certainly not designed to deal with extraordinary natural disasters, buildings built of corruption and greed, cutting corners on quality, glass windows that break even during ordinary monsoon days, how would they withstand a cyclone?

Thankfully, a disaster spared the city.

A few days ago, on a car ride, through a largely empty highway and empty streets, closed shutters, a city that was only a little while ago, intolerably bustling and noisy is now intolerably still and quiet. So many lives, so many enterprises, so many dreams, congealing, curdling, perhaps having to be thrown away soon.

But today, the city is spared. There is only an ordinary monsoon sky. If a glass window breaks now, we might be able to get it repaired.

The highway outside my window will once again be jam-packed with vehicles and I will be glad to stress about the traffic.